


i can fill your cup

by ymorton



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Hand Jobs, Hot Tub Sex, M/M, Outdoor Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2015-06-26
Packaged: 2018-04-06 05:02:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,242
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4208916
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymorton/pseuds/ymorton
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>zayn and harry fucking around in a hot tub</p>
<p>aka the fic where harry almost drowns zayn with his ass</p>
            </blockquote>





	i can fill your cup

**Author's Note:**

> originally posted on tumblr, august 2014
> 
> come say hello [here](http://www.ihavea1dbloghelp.tumblr.com) !

When Zayn comes up to the roof of their hotel in Phoenix late Tuesday night, lighter and joint in hand and a security guard safely stationed inside at the rooftop door, Harry’s up to his neck in bubbling water. 

There’s a pile of clothes on the tile next to the hot tub, and Zayn kicks at it dubiously. 

“You naked in there?” he asks, lighting up. 

Harry grins up at him. His hair is brushing the surface of the water and sticking damp to his neck. “You’ll have to find out, won’t you?" 

Zayn makes a face at him, then beckons. "Here, hold this." 

Harry takes the blunt, leaning over the side of the tub. He’s naked as far as Zayn can see, but he’s still waist deep in water, so it’s still technically possible that Harry has his pants on. 

It’s just not very likely. 

Zayn yanks his shirt off, then wriggles out of his trackies. 

"Turn around,” he says to Harry, because Harry’s still leaning against the tub, tapping ash off the blunt and watching Zayn with dark eyes. 

Harry pouts, but he turns away. Zayn watches as Harry takes a long hit, exhales smoke up towards the wide-open starry sky, and then Zayn’s pulling his shirt over his head and he can’t see anything. 

The air feels good on his skin, but the warm water feels even better, and he groans as he climbs in, sinks in down to his neck in one movement, lets it all hit him at once.  _God_ , that’s nice. His face flushes with steam, and he tips his head back. 

“Fuck,” he mumbles. “That’s good." 

Harry just murmurs something back. Zayn forces his heavy eyelids open, sees Harry taking another hit, then reaching over the opposite side of the tub to tap ash on the ground. The water’s churning but not so much that Zayn can’t see the tanned curve of Harry’s naked arse, his soft hips, and the sight brings another little tingle of pleasure down the back of his neck. Hot tub, cool night, a lit joint, and Harry. Not fucking bad for a Tuesday. 

"Give it here, babes,” he says, and Harry turns, rises up to standing and walks over to Zayn. The water’s lapping at his stomach, low on his hips, the laurels curling up out of the water and flashing when the light hits Harry as he moves. 

Zayn stares, forgets to take the blunt, and Harry grins, reaches out and tips Zayn’s chin up with one hand, makes eye contact and hands him the weed. 

Zayn takes a hit, and then says, voice creaking as he exhales, “C'mere, babe, lemme give you a shotgun." 

He’s expecting Harry to lean down - Harry’s always eager for a blowback - but he’s not expecting the way Harry climbs onto his lap underwater, all slippery skin and clumsy limbs. He wriggles, settles, and then looks at Zayn expectantly. It’s like, Bond girl material, the way Harry’s skin glistens wet in the moonlight - the way his pink mouth is half-open and his hair is framing his face. Zayn’s been high for three hours, pretty much since the show ended, and yet it feels like it’s hitting him just now, just here, with the weight of Harry on top of him. 

Shit. 

He lets out a shaky breath and then inhales hard on the joint, curls a hand around the back of Harry’s neck and tugs him down. 

Harry takes it in, inhaling so deep Zayn can feel it in his throat, and then pulls back just a few inches, exhales smoke into Zayn’s face. 

If it were Louis, he’d probably follow it with a belch and Zayn would shove him off. But it’s Harry, and he smells good, feels good, so Zayn just breathes it in. 

He’s not even surprised when Harry kisses him. Harry’s always thought shotguns were some sort of foreplay, even when Zayn explained to him that it’s a perfectly innocent thing to do between mates and doesn’t need to lead to snogging. 

Of course, he’s not stopping to reteach that lesson now. That’d be stupid, and Zayn’s not stupid. 

Harry’s mouth is soft and hot, and Zayn opens up for him right away, lets Harry suck at his tongue. Zayn’s already feeling pretty fucking incredible, and the kiss just - multiplies it. He’s dazed, out of it, and yet - when Harry bites his bottom lip - the pain brings this moment of clarity, of almost painfully sharp sensation. 

He’s hard, he realizes suddenly, and Harry is too, and Harry is slowly grinding against Zayn’s stomach, his dick like a hot hard brand against the skin. 

He reaches for Harry’s hair and almost burns him with the joint. 

"Fucking put that away,” Harry breathes, rocking his hips again. It feels so slippery down there underwater, no friction, and Zayn’s aching for something more. “C'mon." 

"Wait, lemme just,” Zayn mutters vaguely, and he takes another hit. Harry takes it out of his hand, sucks on it hard til it glows cherry-red in the darkness, then does it again, viciously, inhaling and ashing it at the same time, onto the ground over Zayn’s shoulder. 

“There,” he says, voice a tiny rasp in his throat. He opens Zayn’s mouth with his free hand, thumb and forefinger on either side of his jaw, and exhales smoke inside him. 

Zayn’s eyes close as he takes it, and when he opens them again the joint is gone and Harry’s right there, kissing him. 

“That wasn’t done,” he says against Harry’s mouth, not really put-out about it, and Harry grunts in frustration, slides his hand up the side of Zayn’s neck and grips his hair. 

“Was too,” he says. “What do you want, you want to smoke or you want to get off?" 

"Mm, an ultimatum,” Zayn says, laughing - really, Harry’s so goddamn cute when he’s mad. “You wanna fuck around, Haz, is that what this is?" 

Harry kisses Zayn’s chin, nips down the line of his jaw, clean-shaven just that morning but already feeling the slightest bit prickly. 

"Coz I just wanted to smoke, and to hang out with my mate, y'know?” Zayn murmurs, dragging his fingers down Harry’s spine. Underwater, he cups the round curve of Harry’s arse. “Think you might’ve gotten the wrong idea." 

"Arsehole,” Harry mumbles, huffing a laugh against Zayn’s pulsepoint. “C'mon." 

Zayn likes to tease - mostly because it gets Harry hard and makes him whiny - but they don’t have all bloody night. 

Harry’s eyes open when Zayn pushes him off his lap by the hips, and he stumbles back onto his feet, rising over Zayn in the water. 

"You wanna, uh, you want me to blow you?” he says, dark-eyed, licking his slick mouth. Zayn’s tempted, but his own mouth is watering, and he’s been wanting this since he saw Harry curved over the side of the tub, tapping ash on the ground. 

“Nah,” he says, squeezing Harry’s arse. “Get over the side of the tub. Arse up.”

Harry’s eyes flicker with excitement, and his cheeks flush, visible in the faint glow of the tub lights. 

“Gonna fuck me?” he says, an eyebrow rising like he’s up for it. 

“Get over there,” Zayn says, arching an eyebrow right back, and Harry goes, scoots his long body up and over the side of the tub until his belly’s pressed against the edge and his arse is exposed, out of the water. Shit. Harry’s arse is always lovely, but especially lately, in these last few weeks. He’s put on a few pounds, slacked on training and fucked off to LA on his days off to drink smoothies and pal around with Jeff, and it shows in the best way. Zayn smacked him on stage just hours ago - marveled at the slight wobble and grinned when Harry jumped like he’d been burned. It’s hard for him to keep his hands off, even in front of thousands of screaming girls. 

No one’s here now, though. A security guard in the stairwell and a couple hundred peacefully-sleeping people on the floors below them, but no one watching. 

Zayn groans, lets himself touch. 

Harry shivers at Zayn’s hands cupping him, sighs when Zayn strokes down the back of his thighs. 

“Can you open your legs for me a bit, babes?” Zayn says. Fuck, his mouth’s watering. Harry looks so good bent over like that, his long tan back and his plump arse and his thighs spreading apart. 

“Yeah, good,” Zayn says quietly, when Harry moves. “This alright?" 

"Yeah,” Harry gasps, sounding out of it. 

Zayn’s on autopilot, now, his attention entirely focused on the curve of Harry’s arsecheeks and the place between them. He licks a finger, runs it down Harry’s crack, and - 

Good  _god_. Zayn keeps moving his finger, over Harry’s clenching hole and down his perineum. It’s all - silky fucking smooth. 

The fucking  _slut_. 

“Haz,” he says, pressing against the hot soft skin between his balls and arsehole, knuckling against it and listening to the way Harry’s breath hitches. “Did you wax your arse?" 

Harry grunts out a laugh, shifting against the edge of the hot tub. 

"Did it in LA with Olivia last week,” he says, muffled. “You like it?" 

"You’re such a bloody slag,” Zayn breathes. 

“That a yes?” Harry says, and then starts to say something else, but it cuts off when Zayn leans down, licks around his hole. 

Harry tastes like chlorine, sweet and chemical, and he clenches under Zayn’s tongue, eager and hungry. Zayn grips a nice good amount of Harry’s arse in each hand, pulls him open, licks right there again, nice and slow at first. Just wet. Just messy. 

It’s nowhere enough pressure for Harry to get off, but he’s still rocking up against the side of the tub, his hips thrusting into the water. 

“Zaaayn,” he mutters. “Zayn, fuck. God. Fuck." 

Zayn’s head is spinning. A fucking bomb could drop three feet to the left of the hot tub and he wouldn’t lift his head from Harry’s arse.  _Couldn’t._

He thumbs against the wet clutch of Harry’s bare hole, licks around his finger, and Harry sobs out a breath. He’s so responsive like this - with his arse lifted out of the hot water and getting goosepimply in the cool air, his little hole exposed to the whole wide-open night sky. An airplane roars overhead, and Zayn laughs against Harry’s arsecheek, thinking about someone seeing them from above, squinting down at Zayn Malik eating arse. 

"What?” Harry says, tilting his arse hopefully back towards Zayn’s mouth. 

“Just, like. Airplane,” Zayn says, snorting again. 

“ _What_?" 

Zayn shuts him up with a finger, and then his mouth. When he stops fucking around and starts actually _fucking_ , pointing his tongue and wriggling it past Harry’s rim, Harry moans his approval. 

Zayn  _loves_  this when he’s high. Loves the feel of eating someone out, using his lips and his tongue, getting his face wet. It makes him tingle all over, a heat that shoots straight to his cock and stays there, pumping. He’s hard as he licks Harry open, and that’s fucked up in itself - god, if one of the other lads came up right now he’d be completely screwed- but he can’t be arsed to care. It’s so fucking good. 

Harry’s sobbing now, wild and loud, and when Zayn puts a wet finger in and knuckles against his prostate Harry smacks the side of the hot tub  _hard_ , groans out a loud curse. 

Zayn can’t lift his head to say  _quiet down_  and he doesn’t fucking want to, anyway. It’s stupid, maybe, doing this outside, but the roof’s closed off and they’re both trashed and the recklessness only makes it better. 

He could take Harry downstairs, lay him out on a bed and do this all properly, but he loves it like this - just a bit dangerous.

He’ll get in trouble for that someday, probably. Who fucking cares. 

Harry’s clenching under his tongue again, bearing down on Zayn’s finger. Zayn can hear water churning, can feel Harry’s hips trembling in Zayn’s hands.

When he tugs Harry apart again and wriggles two fingers tight inside him, presses them against Harry’s prostate, there’s a massive splash and then Harry’s slipping backwards against Zayn’s face, gasping loud, hands flailing as he loses his grip.

Zayn lifts his head, breathless. Harry almost drowned him with his arse. God, wouldn’t that be a way to go.

"Alright?” he chokes, wiping his palm over his face. He feels dirty in a good way, messy, and everything smells like chlorine. His lips are tingling.

“God,” is Harry’s contribution. He’s kneeling on the hot tub bench facing away from Zayn, arse in the water and out of the reach of Zayn’s mouth. “God. Yes." 

"Did you - wait, did you come?” Zayn asks, touching Harry’s back. Harry’s skin is wet, and hot. Zayn can’t stop licking his lips. 

“Yeah,” Harry says, sounding wiped out, voice rasping. “Yeah." 

Zayn gropes for Harry’s arse underwater. "Seriously, you fucking came?" 

"Yeah,” Harry says, twisting around in his grasp, and he slips off the bench, faceplants into the water. It’s a good ten seconds of flailing before Harry rights himself again, his face and hair completely drenched and his pink mouth split in a grin. He’s giggling, fucked-out and pleased, and Zayn’s still hard. 

“You got yours, so you’re done, then?” he says, raising his eyebrows, and Harry pouts, pushes Zayn onto the bench on the opposite side of the tub, straddles him again. 

“S'bit rude,” he says, his inner thighs slipping against the outside of Zayn’s. “Give a man a minute to recover." 

"Give a man a minute to almost drown in a hot tub,” Zayn says, laughing. Harry grins at him. He looks a bit like a drowned puppy when he’s drenched, hair sticking to his cheeks and his eyes bright and shiny. 

“That was swimming,” he says, shaking his hair out of his face. “That was all planned." 

"Sure it was." 

Harry just kisses him, mouth broad and wet, and reaches down for Zayn’s dick.

They’ve done this quite a lot, by now. The first time was - god, years ago, when they were too young to know better, and the last time was just a few weeks back, in Texas, jerking each other off in bed late one morning and snogging for ages afterward. It’s always, always good with Harry. No matter how much time passes, it’s always good. 

Harry’s sucking at his collarbone, his mouth eager, while his hand goes  _quick quick quick_ on Zayn’s cock, his grip tight like he knows how much Zayn needs to come. It feels incredible. Everything else rushes back in like a tidal wave of sensation - the night, the hot tub, the pot. Zayn tips his head back against the side of the hot tub until he’s staring up at the sky.  

His breath is coming faster, harder, and he can hear the water sloshing where Harry’s arm is working. It’s fast and frantic, but still, for a second, Zayn feels so utterly calm. He’s exactly where he wants to be, right this second. There’s the sky, and there’s Harry. 

"Is that good?” Harry whispers, and Zayn drags his eyes away from the blurry bright stars and looks at Harry’s face, shadowed above him. Harry’s furrowed brow and his soft cheeks. His sweet mouth.  

_Yeah_ , Zayn thinks, and he’s not sure if he says it out loud. “Yeah,” he repeats, shifting, putting his arms up and behind him, stretched out over the sides of the hot tub. It feels utterly luxurious to do that, to sit back and let Harry work him over like it’s his fucking job.  

Harry grins at him. 

“You’re about to come in a hot tub, aren’t you?” he says, hushed, conspiratorial. “Bit unsanitary.”

“Like you didn’t just fucking nut off,” Zayn says, grunting when Harry thumbs over the tip, presses against his slit. “ _Fuck_." 

"Go on, then,” Harry mumbles, pressing his face to Zayn’s - not kissing, exactly, but breathing against him, mouth open against Zayn’s cheek. “Go on, babe. Come." 

Zayn’d like to hold off just to spite Harry, but Harry tugs at the swollen sensitive head of his dick with deft fingers and Zayn can’t, he can’t, he - he comes with his eyes closed, mostly silent, just a sharp huff of breath. It feels weird to come in water - diffused, somehow, less intense but longer, like the pleasure’s being dragged out of him, slow. He’d like to fuck like that, someday, have Harry rock back onto his dick underwater real leisurely.

He’s half-recovered, still feeling dazed, when Harry moves his lips over to Zayn’s lips and kisses him.

Zayn lets him, opens his mouth, and they snog for a while, easy and slow, steam rising into the air around them. 

An ambulance goes by, somewhere twenty stories below them, and Harry pulls back like it’s his cue, stroking Zayn’s lips with wrinkled-wet fingers. 

"Knackered,” he says softly, petting over Zayn’s hair. The touch is soothing, and despite himself Zayn starts to nod off, starts to go pliant under Harry’s hand. 

“Yeah,” he manages to murmur. 

“C'mon then,” Harry says, yawning in Zayn’s face. “I’m going all pruney." 

Zayn huffs a laugh, lets Harry tug him up and out of the hot tub. He hisses when his feet hit the cold tile of the rooftop, shivers, crosses an arm over his chest, reaches for his clothes. Harry slips into his pants, hooks his jeans over his shoulder and pulls his hair up into a ponytail with an elastic from around his wrist. He wriggles his white t-shirt on and it immediately goes sheer, tattoos flashing dark through the soaked material. 

"You should drink some water before bed,” Harry says, fiddling with the waistband of his briefs, apparently unaware of how stupidly obscene his wet shirt looks. Zayn bites down a laugh. “Seriously. Hot tubs are dehydrating. One of Nick’s mates stayed in a hot tub for forty-five minutes in Ibiza once and then she fell off the side of a boat because she couldn’t walk. I mean, obviously we’re not going to fall off a boat- that was, like, a special circumstance I suppose? But it’ll still give you a headache if you don’t hydrate-" 

"You’re giving me a bloody headache,” Zayn grumbles, grabbing Harry by the meat of his hips as Harry fumbles with the rooftop door. Harry giggles, just as it’s opened from inside, and Zayn lets go as Eric holds the door open for them both. 

“Cheers,” Harry says to him, shooting finger-guns and winking in a way that probably makes it really bloody obvious what they were just doing. If Harry’s groans didn’t give it up already. 

“Of course, Mr. Styles, Mr. Malik,” Eric says, stone-faced, giving nothing away. “Have a good night." 

They trip down the stairs into the long plush-carpeted hallway and set off for the elevators. 

"He definitely knew we were shagging,” Harry says matter of factly, reaching back and taking Zayn’s hand as they walk. It’s those little things he does that makes Zayn’s heart trip over itself like he’s sixteen again. Any person could be looking out their peepholes, watching them, but Zayn doesn’t let go. 

Zayn hums, distracted. 

“Not that it matters,” Harry says, grinning back at him, his fingers squeezing around Zayn’s. “Can I sleep in your room?" 

"Yeah,” Zayn says, dazed. Harry’s hand is very warm. “Yeah, whatever you want." 


End file.
